Owls' Court

Friends In Deed

We've been forbidden to thank him further, so I'm just going to share how much better the evening got because:

- t! said that of course we'd be welcome to have tonight's meeting over at his place instead of ours, because then

- HRH could shower the grunge of the day's hedge trimming off over there, as it seems that our building's boiler is dead and we won't have hot water for at least another day, plus

- t! graciously offered to buy us dinner.

And in addition to all this, we got to share some really cool talk about spirituality and how great knowing what your path is.

Good friends are good to have. They feed you when you're down, and let you use their showers.

Am Me Blue...

It was a pretty blue day today, what with gritting my teeth through MT conversion, fixing endless bits of wrong, and then staring at a blank screen during the writing jam. Ceri tapped away at her serial, and I sat like a lump staring at the ten pages of the latest chapter of the GCN. This chapter is not great art. Most of it is slopped down just to get it out of the way so that the interesting stuff can happen, which means that a lot of it will have to be cut later. I want to know what's happening to the characters, which is usually enough for the little films to run in my mind, but it's just not coming today. So Ceri suggested I do some stream of consciousness writing based on a postcard idea from last summer, and all of a sudden I remembered that in one of my old notebooks I had a complete (!) rough story called "Once and Future Queen," based on a clash between two history and Eng lit grad students. I dug out the notebook and began transcribing.

This thing dates back from late 1996, and was written in bits and pieces through the end of 1997. I transcribed 5,141 words this afternoon. And sure, when I transcribe notes and such into an ongoing work project, it's like the elves came in the middle of the night and left me word count. Transcribing a complete short story, though, felt like I had nothing to show for my day's labour. (Well, all right, I'm actually about three pages short of a complete transcription -- I just couldn't take it any more.) Kind of like all the backstage tweaking of MT this morning: no one sees tangible results, because they aren't the major sort of changes. It's all stuff that has to be done, but it lacks a sense of accomplishment

We have another meeting tonight, and there's dinner to do, but the only thing in the freezer is spaghetti sauce, and we have no pasta. I'd breeze out and pick some up, but every cent I currently have has to go to rent tomorrow to make up what's missing (which leaves me hoping there will be a surprise cheque in the mail sooner rather than later). I'm getting a little paycheque from the store in a day or so for the two days I worked last week, but that doesn't help me now.

So I'm kind of mopy, and restless, yet lazy. And we have no hot water, for some reason, which does not help matters at all.

It's just that kind of day.

*blink* *blink*

Everyone okay? All still accounted for?

We are now powered by Movable Type. And we have lost all our titles, gorramit. Am now going back over 1.2K entries and reconstructing. Also assigning categories. Hate css. Hate, hate, hate. It has rules, and those rules aren't evident to me yet. I suppose I'll eventually learn the same way I learned HTML -- by messing things up until I get it right.

Thank you, Blade, for your expertise and guidance during this process. There is Sauvignon Blanc in your future.

We lost all comments, by the bye; I discovered that Haloscan only kept about four months on file, the bastards. And if I wanted to export those, I'd've had to upgrade my account, which means paying $12 US to release four lousy months of comments, while abandoning the service. So, Dear Readers, I love you all, thanks for the past encouragement and deep thoughts, let's write more comments that are mine all mine.

Sands of Time

I was perturbed to discover on Sunday, as I was bringing my calendars up to speed, that I was already thinking of October as "next month." This is a direct result of knowing that I begin teaching again on September 11, and as I'm preparing for those first classes, I was already in the mid-September headspace.

I'm still trying to figure out what happened to 2003. It will be 2005 before I reason it out and begin on 2004.

Test

This is just a place holder, repeatedly changed and modified to make sure the install didn't break :)

En Garde Once Again

Blade's in the process of doing that MT migration thing for the Court. Over the next few days things might go a bit wonky. Beaks and wingtips inside the blog at all times, please.

Grr

Have I mentioned lately how much I hate the space bar on my keyboard?

It's dark, it's grey, it's gloomy, and I have a vaguely nauseous feeling that's probably directly connected to the amount of food I ate last night at my in-laws' place. It's now pouring and HRH probably still won't come home early, just as he hasn't the last rain days this month.

I finished the rewrite of the proposal and sent it off, so I've done some sort of Real Work today. Let's see if the pub board is a bit more comfortable with a book which talks about using the seasons to support spellcasting.

Witches Weekly August 28, 2004:

Witches Weekly August 28, 2004: Politics

1. Do you feel those with pagan beliefs should attempt to take more of a political stand?

I feel that religion and spirituality has nothing to do with how politically active an individual should or should not be. That’s up to the individual. I would never stand for a religion or spirituality dictating my political behaviour to me. Certainly, I tend to be more vocal concerning areas honoured by pagan paths, such as environmental issues, the right to expression, the freedom of religion, health care, and education; this, however, is a result of common interests, not due to my involvement as a pagan or my commitment to the Wiccan path.

2. Is paganism openly accepted where you are from? (city,town,state)

Sure. Here in Montreal, Quebec, Canada, we have a handful of metaphysical shops, there are outdoor rituals in public places, and the major anglophone newspaper does articles on the spirituality of pagans, not the sensational aspect. Canada in general tends to not get its knickers in a knot about alternative spirituality. (Don't get us started on the archaic laws still on the books, however.)

3. Given your beliefs, what's one thing that a political figure could promise to you about your path, that would convince you to vote for them?
No single promise would convince me to vote for anyone. I consider it my responsibility as a citizen to not be swayed by single issues, so I look at the entire platform. An individual could promise me a 100% increase in recycling investment, and if I didn’t look at the rest of the platform I might allow education cuts, a reduction in rights and freedoms to slip by. That's irresponsible.

Come the restoration of the monarchy, however, things will be much improved. Hail to the king!

Another New Obsession

Pasley and I escaped to have cool sangria and nibbles yesterday afternoon when both of us were about to pop, and we also stopped in at a new tea shop I'd seen a few weeks ago as I drove past.

Un Amour des Thes is a smaller, more welcoming, better-staffed tea merchant than the tea emporium in Westmount ever was. I love it. I am currently drinking Petales de Rose, a blend of Ceylon tea, rose petals, and rose essence, and I fully intend to return for a sample of other kinds (such as the Ceylon cocoa essence mint, and Ceylon caramel, plus all the lovely expensive teas in tall tins behind the wooden counter), plus a tea press when I get my next cheque from the publisher. They're all blended on-site, and I'm so delighted. The energy there is wonderful. And they do tea-tastings, and workshops too.

I know. Little things.

(Ed. note: Oh, look; Blogger finally put through the edits and spelling corrections I did yesterday. How kind of it.)

Oh, glory -- Home-grown tomatoes

Oh, glory --

Home-grown tomatoes and cucumber, picked two days ago, dressed with balsamic vinegar and really, really good olive oil smuggled home from Italy.

It's the little things that make life all right again.

(Anyone else noticing that this year's tomatoes have really thick skin?)

Drumroll please...

There. HRH has an on-line CV and sample portfolio, whether he likes it or not. For the moment, please don't add it to your links; it needs final approval and so forth. Don't bother pointing out that there's no contact info; I know there isn't. The site isn't meant to advertise, it's meant to serve as a literal electronic portfolio, the URL of which will be included in applications made by HRH to lucky studios and businesses who as of yet are unaware of his talents and skills.

I appear to have a stomach-ache. Eating would probably help.

Alive (But Not Kicking)

Not dead. Busy.

I had an emergency edit dumped in my lap, and in my off-hours I've been creating HRH's on-line CV and portfolio.

It's humid again, people are stupid, my allergies are acting up, and I'm cranky because I haven't been allowed to wake up by my own internal clock for a week. Chocolate does not help. Caffeine does not help. Dad's pinot noir does not help. Salt does not help. Nor does tea of any kind.

And I have to be perky tonight for the open house.

Challenges

I've been faced with a couple of difficult choices recently.

The first concerns the fact that I've lately struggled with wanting desperately to take up dancing again. I've always wanted to go back, but over the past ten years I've come up with every reason in the book to avoid it: I haven't the money, I'm working too hard, I haven't the time, there's no studio near me, I'm shy, etcetera. The single sample class I took a decade ago ended in tears and a vow to never, ever show my face in a studio room again. Looking back, accepting the invitation of a sample class towards the end of a semester was really stupid, because I measured myself (having not danced at all for nine years) against women who had been training for fourteen solid weeks. Barre work was all right, but I stumbled badly in my floor work, and couldn't remember the moves to match the names the teacher called out in combination sequences as we performed them across the room one by one. It scarred me badly.

I'm taking sample classes at two different ballet studios at the beginning of September. In both, I'll be starting from the very basic beginner's classes once again, to preserve mental and emotional sanity as well as to be kind to my body. I've retained most of my flexibility and posture (training for six years as your body forms and grows will do that for you), but muscles evolve with you, and I'm not stupid enough to think that I can just jump into an advanced class right off the bat.

So, there; one of my difficult choices. I'll be dancing at one or both of them this fall.

The second difficult choice revolves around something very personal and emotional that occurred to me four and a half years ago (which scarred much deeper than the dancing issue). It took me quite some time to heal from the original experience, and I eventually dealt with it and moved on (without the other individual in my life, by my choice; I don't hold grudges, I just don't offer people the second chance to backstab me). On Sunday, this situation and the individual originally involved in it were resurrected in my memory by three different people, at three distinctly different and unrelated times.

I had a hard time working through what I was supposed to do about this, because I didn't know what lesson Spirit was trying to teach me: how to surrender and accommodate, or how to say no. I'm very good -- too good, some have said -- at accommodating. I am bad, very bad, at saying no. In this instance, choosing to accommodate means that other people receive a lower-quality service. After the summer I have had, and the experiences I went through at the spiritual retreat ten days ago, and after meditation and divination and discussion with a couple of people I trust, I have chosen to interpret this as a lesson in saying no. The quality of my teaching and facilitating other people's spiritual growth is very important to me, and I won't have that interfered with. I owe that to my students, who trust me.

Trying to puzzle out which lesson I was to be learning through this was not fun. Both outcomes had drawbacks. Whichever lesson I followed through, there was pain and disappointment. Another one of those no-win, choose-the-lesser-evil situations. I had a very emotional day as I evaluated who I was, who I had been, and who I wanted to be in the future. I've made my choice now, and it's the right one.

These are two very different challenges I have worked through. They both involve dealing with pride and spirituality: one expressed through movement and discipline; the other through a final emotional purging, a recognition that everything changes, and an acceptance of a teacher's full responsibility, which sometimes must include saying no.

Whew. Can I get off the growing-up treadmill for a bit now, please? Just for a rest?

Witches Weekly August 21, 2004:

Witches Weekly August 21, 2004: Random Questions

1. Have you ever been confronted with a decision you had to make that conflicted with your spiritual beliefs? If so, what, and how did you deal with it?

No. My faith is all about taking the responsibility for every one of your actions on your own shoulders.

The main lesson I learned in the early years of practicing Wicca concerned the "harm none" rule. No one, absolutely no one, can go through life without harming someone or something. I grew to understand that a Wiccan must temper the "harm none" law with the belief that allowing harm to perpetuate elsewhere is wrong, and that standing by doing nothing is in itself causing harm. Loving the evildoer isn't the way to redeem them; it's just not going to happen. Thus, engaging in less than ethical action to stop evil from perpetuating is at times necessary. I firmly believe that we're often faced with situations where the choice can only be the action "which is less wrong." I also accept the karmic burden for taking those actions.

(The fact that there are no such concepts as pure "evil" or "good" complicates matters, but that's a discussion for another day. Right and wrong are always subjective, and often situational as well. Hitting someone is generally perceived as wrong, but if you do it to turn someone aside from harming someone else (after trying other methods) then it's right. You're still going to have to take responsibility for it, though; you can' escape the fact that you hit someone. Actions are dependent upon the individual, the situation, and the pressing need of a resolution. Heck, I'm not going to reiterate the Ethics chapter of the bloody book; just read it when it comes out next May, all right?)

2. What was your most spiritual moment?

I have absolutely no clue. I have frequent little spiritual moments; I can't isolate one of them as "the most spiritual." To me, spirituality is a life-suffusing concept. Even a small spiritual moment can change your life, and continuously informs the next moment as well as the one before it.

If you pressed me, though, I'd have to choose between the moments directly following my wedding ceremony, and my third degree ceremony. And perhaps my second degree ceremony as well. These just happen to have been facilitated by someone else; it's not the fact that they're ceremonies which makes them spiritual. Rather, it's the depth of the spiritual transformation which occured during those ceremonies that makes them stand out.

3. Has there ever been a moment where you doubted the path you were on? If so, how did you deal with it?

In the ten years I have followed it, I have never doubted my adherence to the Wiccan faith. I have, however, doubted what I'm doing within it, though: teaching, writing, counseling, and so forth. These doubts are mini spiritual crises which pass after meditation, divination, consulting with others, and rest (they're often a direct result of being overworked and overtired). Someone once told me the fact that I wonder about my suitability for helping others probably means I'm the right person to do it. Sigh. There's no escape, is there.

From the Files of the Obvious

In general I avoid quizzes, as they frustrate me; they're never multi-dimensional enough, and I usually wouldn't choose any of the answers, so I'm left with a best-of-the-worst-choices selection. Sometimes, though, I'm curious to see how they're constructed, how they would slot me into a limited, pre-conceived category.

Today, I discovered via the What Style of Witchcraft Suits You? quiz that I am "best suited to Traditional Wicca!! You feel more comfortable in a structured setting, but have no qualms about doing what must be done when necessary." Which is true enough, and the only answer which even remotely describes my actual practice.

I also discovered this, according to the What Kind of Pagan Are You? quiz, and I'm pasting the whole thing because Dame Maggie Smith is just cool:

You are THE REAL THING! You are just a regular person with alternative
beliefs. You don't feel you have anything to
prove and are just enjoying life. Good for
you!

What kind of pagan are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

I Wasn't Going to Say Goodbye

What do you mean, the first season of Farscape ends like that?

Damn them for knowing how to do a decent cliffhanger. Damn the season sets for being so expensive.

Damn.

Be A Martyr!

This kind of thing really riles me up:

Church Says Girl's Communion Not Valid

By JOHN CURRAN, Associated Press Writer
Fri Aug 20, 6:33 AM ET

BRIELLE, N.J. - An 8-year-old girl who suffers from a rare digestive disorder and cannot eat wheat has had her first Holy Communion declared invalid because the wafer contained no wheat, violating Roman Catholic doctrine.

Now, Haley Waldman's mother is pushing the Diocese of Trenton and the Vatican (news - web sites) to make an exception, saying the girl's condition should not exclude her from the sacrament, which commemorates the Last Supper of Jesus Christ before his crucifixion. The mother believes a rice Communion wafer would suffice.

"It's just not a viable option. How does it corrupt the tradition of the Last Supper? It's just rice versus wheat," said Elizabeth Pelly-Waldman.

Church doctrine holds that Communion wafers, like the bread served at the Last Supper, must have at least some unleavened wheat. Church leaders are reluctant to change anything about the sacrament.

(Full article here.)

For Pete's sake -- The bread. Is. Blessed.

The priest uses his God-given powers to bless the bread, performing the ritual magic which transforms the object into the body of Christ. That's what transubstantiation means. Are you telling me that God isn't capable of changing a rice wafer into the body of Christ? That the blessings don't take if it's not wheat?

Denying someone access to their faith because the individual cannot/will not comprimise their health isn't only unfair, it's bigoted.

The Catholic faith is a beautiful one. It's too bad the bureaucrats spoil the spiritual aspect of that faith.

Keep Writing

Interesting introspective on finishing novels, selling first novels, and other such writerly things from Michelle West here.

Echoes

(I found this post tucked away in a file, forgotten until I began cleaning things out. It was written partially as an e-mail to a new teacher. It's as important now as it was when it was written, I should make some sort of note to re-read it often.)

It's often said that "those who don't know, teach" but I've discovered that what it should say is "those who know, teach, then discover that they didn't know things as well as they'd thought, and proceed to reinterpret their lives and learn, learn, learn."

The odd thing is as a spiritual teacher, you're still further ahead than those you teach. Life's an ever-unwinding path; you've just seen a bit more of it than your students have.

Spiritual teachers go through frequent crises of self-worth: how can I teach others if I know so little myself? It's a sign of humility, which is a good thing, I suppose. At the same time, one has to remember that the definition of a mentor or guide involves the idea that they've been where the student is now, and so are in a position to offer advice, a helping hand, or valuable information. It's kind of like following someone through a forest, and seeing that they've left signs of their passing in disturbed greenery, a footprint here and there; and every so often, there's a shout back from ahead that tells you to watch out for that root you're about to trip over.

They will ask questions; you will not know the answers. They will become frustrated; you will become angry. They won't get it; you will despair.

But you owe it to your own past teachers, whether they knew they were teaching you or not, to keep on.

The Good, the Bad

Due to severe rain, today's photo shoot has been postponed to the next sunny day. (It was an outdoor shoot, and we don't have the correct lighting for an indoor shoot today.)

Part of me is relieved; most of me is ticked off. I'd psyched myself up for this.

The good news -- HRH should be home later, because the rain is truly torrential.

Steal My Soul

I have a photo shoot scheduled for today, and I'm trying to work myself up to it.

I detest photo sessions. I feel self-conscious, angry, annoyed, I don't know what to do or how to sit, or what to wear, and I always hate the results. I'd like to blame it on a Bad Photo Experience as a child, but school pictures were never disastrous events. The only family portrait we ever had taken was the afternoon after I had dental work done, so one side of my mouth is swollen and I'm not smiling, but even that photo session wasn't bad.

My father is an excellent amateur photographer, and he used to bring back stunningly beautiful slides taken of the tundra environments up north, shots of caribou, tiny flowers on lichen on wind-scoured rock, clouds. I was given a camera when I was about seven, and I took pictures because my father and his father did as well. I don't precisely remember when I came to the realisation that pictures don't matter to me. It might have been after some sort of deeply moving experience where I later looked at the photos taken at the time and said, no, this isn't it; this isn't what happened; this is hollow.

There is a picture of me in my head that actual photographs never reflect. I've cried when I've seen some pictures of me that others seem to like. I've also stared at some pictures for ages, trying to suss out what it is about photographs that makes me hate them so. I hate approximately ninety-four percent of all pictures of me. Others seem to think they're fine, sometimes even great shots of me. No one I've ever spoken to about this understands how these photographs hurt me on some inexplicable, deeply felt level.

HRH has used several explanations for why I dislike pictures: cold light, flat image, lack of life to add the spirit to the physical representation. Blah blah blah. Artist talk.

The only photographs of me that I've ever loved immediately are our wedding pictures. Maybe it was the professional photographer with personality. Maybe the love and light of the day, and my spirit shining stronger than it does on an average day triumphs over the cold 2D images. Who knows?

All I know is that I hate photo sessions, I usually hate the results, and today at noon I have one. We're using a digital camera, so we can wipe the ones I hate out of existence right away. I'm working with an amateur photographer whose work I've seen and enjoyed, who has also worked as an actor and director, so he'll be able to direct my positions and expressions. I hope to all the gods he has patience with me, because I won't.

Cameras scare me. And that truth makes me angry, because I don't know how to deal with it.

Drat Those Celts

From an e-mail conversation:

Me: (in response to a request for an authentic source for some Celtic information) What, if anything, is verifiably authentic when it comes to the Celts? Pesky Celts, doing stuff and not writing it down.

Ceri: And having different names for everything, damn them. They're worse than people on the internet, misspelling everything.

And if you've ever tried to do any sort of Celtic research (and in so doing sought to avoid Llewellyn authors such as Edain McCoy like the plague), you too know this pain...

Fromt he Very Cool Information File

Some of you know about my amber obsession.

Well, today I discovered the existence of Blue Amber.

I'm still processing the new world view.

Despair of ever creating great

Despair of ever creating great art? Never be a Da Vinci, a Donatello, a Van Gogh? Then soothe your soul with the Sistine Chapel Coloring Book.

No, I'm not kidding.

Real Authors, Real People

Take a look at Laurell K Hamilton's writing room-slash-office, and know that you are not alone with your sticky notes, stuffed animals, bookcases, and empty cups:

LKH @ Home Gallery

She even has a Gate to Hot Tea.

The Post-It notes wouldn't last long in a humid area like Montreal, though. No way, nohow. This is why many of us use gigantic bulletin boards instead. (How humid is it in St. Louis, Missouri, anyway, Dear Readers? Anyone?)

An excellent article on Traditional

An excellent article on Traditional witchcraft vs non-Traditional (note the capitalisation), initiation, and suchlike:

Oathbound: The meaning of traditional paths in an instant gratification society

(This just so happens to have been written by someone who led a fabulous closing ritual this weekend.)

Witches Weekly Questions, August 13,

Witches Weekly Questions, August 13, 2004: Sound

1. Do you enjoy having any type of music or sound during a ritual? If so, what?

Always. My life has a soundtrack, and ritual is no different. The score to the film Fairy Tale was nominated as the Official Ritual Score a few years ago. Nowadays I often use the score to Myst as well. It depends on the tone of the ritual. Worship: Fairy Tale. Working: Myst. And because I'm so tuned to music (no pun intended) I can time my words and energy to the music's crescendos. It enhances everything so beautifully.

Drummingis marvellous, especially when you have a strong and talented drummer. TO drum, however, you have to accept that you're not in the heart of the ritual, but managing the energy levels on the side. I can't do rit and drum simultaneously, so I have to look forward to high ritual when others do it. And it has to be done correctly; so many let the beat falter or meander around. I've only met a handful of people who can correctly use drums as ritual tools.

2. Do you have a favorite chant?

Good question. I've always love The Earth is our Mother; I can chant Holy Well Sacred Flame for hours in ecstatic meditation; and Air I Am was on the list until near the end of this weekend when the Clan's chants mistress (a woman whom I love fiercely) taught my dedicants to sing "Sam I am, Sam I am, I won't eat green eggs and ham" to the tune, thereby endearing her to the Seuss fanatics (everyone) and ruining the chant forever for me. Earth My Body has taken its place in my top three chants after this weekend.

3. What sound tends to move you spiritually the most?

A slow well-built orchestral crescendo; rain; water of any kind; the cello (go figure).

King Arthur Review

Not much else we could do yeaterday after four hours of sleep, so we went out to lunch (and nearly wept on the waitress' neck for the quality of food; remember, we were in the US of A for four days) and then caught a movie. We chose to see King Arthur

My four-word review:

No guts, no heart.

It's an interesting theory, and I enjoyed the presentation of the three sides to the conflict, but it felt like there should have been documentary narration over it. It was stoics, not stirring. It felt as if there were chunks missing. At least they cut out the whole stupid Lancelot/Guinevere thing. And, I am sad to say, I was so tired that I nodded off during the final battle. (The glass of white wine I had with lunch probably didn't help.) Best sequence: the ice battle. Best knight: Gawain. Fabulous costumes. Great designs for the native Britons (Woads -- honestly, what a dull name).

Excellent music, though. Zimmer's score is a nice contrast to Goldsmith's music to First Knight.

We won't own it, despite our love for all things native Briton, armour, and epic battle sequences.

Flip-Side

Don't get me wrong; there were bad things too. We left three and a half hours later than we had intended to thanks to the idiocy of the regie d'assurance automobile; we drove in a blinding rainstorm; the portable CD player and the tape adapter hook-up didn't work; we set up in the pouring rain, and were subsequently damp all weekend (I'm just throwing my rotting sneakers out); the air mattress had a hole in it and deflated completely within two hours; more people showed up than registered so that there weren't enough sites for those who *did* register, forcing people to double and triple up on soaking, flooded, bog-like sites; one of the catered meals was rancid, forcing us to default to breakfast food on our barbecue (which was yummy, and a good bonding experience); and due to unclear communicaion about scheduling, we left five hours later than we had expected to leave, forcing us to drive through the night instead of just the evening, and on not a lot of sleep at the end of a draining weekend.

That's just so you know I'm not romanticising. There were as many downs as ups. However, dwelling on the downs isn't constructive.

Home!

We're back from our spiritual retreat down in Pennsylvania. Apart from arriving in a pounding rainstorm thanks to Hurricane Charley dancing along the eastern coast of the US and being damp all weekend as a result, we had a phenomenal time. We assisted in a high-powered ritual in which we elevated two people to third degree, one of whom is a very dear friend, we networked, we attended our first private official meeting as clan teachers, and we received some deeply touching compliments. The new folk in our coven who travelled with us seemed to have a wonderful time as well, which was both a delight and a relief.

The only drawbacks were arriving in that rainstorm and dealing with the subsequent mud, the hour of is-the-hurricane-coming-inland-do-we-cancel-the-camping-weekend on Saturday (heck no -- we had over a hundred fifty witches on-site. That hurricane was downgraded to a tropical storm and moved out to sea instead), and the unexpectedly lengthy post-camping meeting for the teachers. We stayed as long as we could, and finally left at seven PM. HRH and I rolled into Montreal as the sun was rising and fell into bed at six AM.

On the way home we stopped at the Friendly's restaurant in West Hazelton, PA, and let me tell you, there's a reason we always stop at that particular location of the chain. The staff are cheerful, the restaurant is tidy, and the food is always good (unlike other locations of the chain, we have discovered to our dismay). HRH and I had heavenly peanut butter-fudge-vanilla ice cream. I had mine with hot fudge sauce and whipped cream as well, and oh gods, it was pure sin and very, very tempting to pack our cooler with pints of the stuff. It's a limited time thing; we just might have to cross the border again before the fall to indulge one last time. (Yes, it's good enough to merit a border crossing all on its own.)

We touched base with people whom we love, whom we only see once a year, and then only if we're lucky. We met new friends. We were reminded of why we chose to work with this particular tradition: no bullshit, fierce loyalty if merited, a kick-ass sense of humour, and the ability to sever ties completely if warranted to avoid drama and drawn-out politics. This camping trip reminds me that there are people out there who've got my back if I need support, magically or personally.

I am a high priestess within the Black Forest Clan. I honour my teachers, and my fellow facilitators. I love my brothers and sisters of the clan. And every year at this time, I am reminded of how fortunate I am to be a part of this organization, contributing and receiving knowledge and passion.

The only unfortunate part is that I come home all fired up to start or re-start thousands of projects, at least nine hundred and ninety seven of which will have to wait while the rest of my life demands my attention on a daily basis.

Ups and Downs

We discovered last week that the purveyors of fine teas in the nearby upper-crust borough had closed up shop.

This is bad -- where am I going to go pick up Dragon Well on a whim? -- but not bad, because they were snobbish prissy shopwomen who belittled their clientele instead of welcoming them and educating them. We drove past a tiny tea shop up on Monkland a while ago, so one of these days I shall have to take a walk up and check it out in order to ascertain its value.

Saturday night after dinner out with friends my stomach and digestive system decided to stage a protest about something (it certainly wasn't the food), and while I'm much better, they're still unhappy about life. We leave for Pennsylvania before dawn tomorrow, so I wish they'd hurry up and settle. We picked up the camping gear from Hiscock's Fine Camping Supplies and Laundromat last night (and also obtained a nice anti-skip personal CD player with tape convertor for the trip, huzzah), so all that remains is to:

- get photocopies to take with us
- pick up gallon jugs of bottled water
- finish packing clothes
- pick up black cord for my dress
- pick up the first-aid kit
- finish hemming Gob Anarchy's robe for the band's first unofficial tour (unofficial because a third of the band will be missing, alas)

I succeeded in creating the body of the robe and put it on to show HRH. It's designed for someone who is about six inches taller than I am, so the sleeves flopped way past my fingers, the hood almost obscured my face, and the hem dragged on the ground. "'S a bit big," I said, flopping my hands about. HRH turned around, saw me, and tried to hide his laughter behind a hand. "Wot?" I demanded. "You look like a cute Dementor," he said, his efforts turning his face red. "Give us a kiss, then!" I siad, stepping towards him. "That's just creepy," he said, "no, thanks."

All three of my female fur-children have staked out this robe as The Best Place To Sleep. Hope Gob Anarchy appreciates how they feel.

To the sewing machine!

Short-Lived: The Sequel

So now I'm writing two book proposals. Yes, I am certifiably mad.

At least neither of them are stalling. Ceri just made us some tea, too. And as we all know, where there's tea, there's hope. (Here's looking at you, Brandon Thomas.)

Short-Lived

I'm trying to bash out another book proposal, and I'm stalling. (No, not work-avoiding; stalling of the "engine stalling, abort mission, failure, failure" sort). Now I'm no longer convinced that I can write.

Yes, this goes in cycles. It's probably healthy. Not enjoyable, but healthy. (Calvin, go do something you hate! Being miserable builds character!)

Take No Prisoners

From the daily herbal newsletter I receive:

There is an old garden saying I found in the Herb Farm Cookbook that says, "You don't have mint, mint has you."

How's that for a remarkably dead-on comment?

Author Joy

Woo-hoo!

Just found out that Kelley Armstrong's coming to Con*Cept this November!

Thanks for the heads-up, Firewillow. (Whose playlist, incidentally, appears to be 90% identical to mine.)

The GCN, Revived

I sat down today and decided to get back into writing. Not the book-type stuff (although I think I've just promised to come up with an outline and proposal for a book collection of spells, and they offered me the option to write yet another book last Friday too -- don't go nuts, I'm not sure I want to do this one as it's not my forte), but writing for myself.

So I woke up the laptop, thanked it for all its hard work writing the Spellcraft book, and asked it to think back to when we were writing the Great Canadian Novel. Upon rereading the last chapter I remembered why I'd been reluctant to return to this project: I accidentally ended the book when I wrote this chapter back in 2003. Even an attempt to rewrite it to avoid the ending in January 2004 didn't rescue it in my mind. Today, then, was my day to eradicate the "finished/story-all-told" association the project had in my mind, and to open it to new vistas of writing-tude.

So, ninety minutes and 2,960 words later, the Great Canadian Novel is back into the swing of things, and in regular project rotation once again.

I've missed Poppy.

Witches Weekly August 07, 2004

Witches Weekly August 07, 2004 - What is Sacred to You?

1. What is one item that is sacred to you? (Can be anything, tool, amulet, object, etc)

My body. It’s mine; no one else’s. I don’t subscribe to society’s idea of what’s attractive (although society does sometimes agree with my standards). No one touches it without my permission. I have a thing about personal space.

Fire is also sacred to me, in all its forms, as is water.

2. What holidays or time of year do you consider most sacred to you personally?

Imbolc, of course, because it’s associated with first light, growth, purification, creativity, and, ultimately, Brid. Anyone who can forge a sword, inflict damage with it, then heal you and feed you afterwards is high on my list of individuals whose sanctity is worthy of celebration.

And, what do you know; fire and water are usually associated with Imbolc as well.

3. Describe your sacred space (can be anywhere, indoors, outdoors, etc).

You’re not getting the nickel tour of my astral sacred space because it’s private, nor am I about to describe my body (ditto). My sacred environments (real or astral) always include a hanging lamp of some kind, because, as I state above, fire is sacred to me. There’s usually a dish of water, as well, or a pool. Other than those two commonalities, my sacred space is wherever I am.

Have I mentioned how sick I am of Bach's Peasant Cantata, and his Coffee Cantata? Honestly, there are other cantatas out there. Please, CBC, play them.

Bits and Pieces

Reese Witherspoon as Becky Sharp in Vanity Fair? I don't know whether to be thrilled because Vanity Fair is coming out on the big screen, or to shudder because of the casting of the central role. I'd've liked to have seen what Cate Blanchett could have done with the role, for example. For those interested, the movie is rated PG-13 for Some Sensuality, Partial Nudity, and A Brief Violent Image (which is, no doubt, the scene where Becky throws the book out of the carriage window).

B12 is back from its month-long holiday!

We leave for our annual spiritual retreat before the sun rises on Thursday morning. They appear to be having the same weather we're having: fair, cool nights, and the chance of scattered thunderstorms. At least I know what to pack: layers. We picnicked in Angrignon Park last night after the CMS Lughnassadh ritual and graduation ceremony, and I'm really glad that I wore socks and runners instead of sandals, and that I brought a sweater. People who complain about not having our usual sweltering heat should be shot as a public service to others.

Accomplished

After a day or so of doing things but not really getting much done, I sat down and wrote two new book reviews today. I also uploaded four or five reviews that I'd written for Wyntergreene but hadn't added to the Read page of my site yet. (Those would be Progressive Witchcraft (thumbs up), Witch's Familiar (thumbs down), Order of the Phoenix (thumbs up, of course -- a year late, but finally uploaded!), Voices From the Pagan Census (undecided), Philosophy of Wicca (thumbs down), and Rites of Worship (thumbs up).)

So I've finished the reviews of Healing Magic and Advanced Witchcraft, and voila, simply because I've gotten writing down on paper (in pixels?) I feel satisfied. This is a problem with defining yourself as a writer: if you don't write, you feel like a failure. Even rationalising reading as research doesn't completely cut it. Deep inside, you still feel like you're making excuses for the fact that you didn't write.

However, all that has been swept away! I am a writer once more, with eight hundred new words to my name. (Not a stellar harvest today, but it's eight hundred more than I had this morning.)

Being Excellent Literary News

Good news for all the Caroline Stevermer fans out there! A sequel to Sorcery and Cecelia is finally being released after all these years, again co-authored with Patricia Wrede! (And I know there are a few Stevermer fans who read this journal, and might well be more by the time you've finished reading this entry. If you enjoy Jane Austen and Martha Wells, you'll enjoy these, too. When the first book was released, it was described as "Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer have J.R.R. Tolkien to tea--or chocolate," and "a Regency Romance, with magic." If you've read Patricia Wrede's Magician's Ward or Mairelon the Magician, these are set in the same world).

The Grand Tour: Being a Revelation of Matters of High Confidentiality and Greatest Importance, Including Extracts from the Intimate Diary of a Noblewoman and the Sworn Testimony of a Lady of Quality Kate and Cecy and their new husbands, Thomas and James, are off on a Grand Tour. Their plans? To leisurely travel about the Continent, take in a few antiquities, and--of course--purchase fabulous Parisian wardrobes.

But once they arrive in France, mysterious things start to happen. Cecy receives a package containing a lost coronation treasure, Thomas's valet is assaulted, and Kate loses a glove. Soon it becomes clear that they have stumbled upon a dastardly, magical plot to take over Europe.

Now the four newlyweds must embark on a daring chase to thwart the evil conspiracy. And there's no telling the trouble they'll get into along the way. For when you mix Kate and Cecy and magic, you never know what's going to happen next!

Cecy and Kate, loose on the Continent with their new spouses? One knows perky, sardonic banter and catatrophe simply must occur. It's being released in hardcover this September; I know I'll be reading it. I might even buy the first book in hardcover to match it. (I often graduate my favourite books to hardcover, and my mass-market paperback is pretty tattered, being originally second-hand, passed around several hands, sold by a borrower without my knowledge, and being re-discovered in another second-hand shop with my name still inside.) The title of the first book has been expanded to Sorcery and Cecelia or the Enchanted Chocolate Pot: Being the Correspondence of Two Young Ladies of Quality Regarding Various Magical Scandals in London and the Country, another delightful description.

There's a co-author web page called, appropriately enough, The Enchanted Chocolate Pot. It says The Grand Tour will be available in December, but it's a bit out of date.

Good Things

Hmm, says I while answering loads of e-mail. Hmm, there are rumblings in my tummy.

So I got up and made parmesan-chive biscuits. And now the house smells absolutely delicious. They taste even better, though. Oh gods, they are completely divine, and very grown-up (although any fears of adulthood will be banished once you realise that you've gobbled down six in a sitting). Parmesan-chive biscuits are definitely Good Things.

Aren't I just the regular Martha Stewart. Except not a criminal. Which is also A Good Thing.

Later: To assuage Ceri's cravings and to save my door from being kicked in, here the recipe. It was originally the basic biscuit recipe from the Joy of Cooking.

Preheat oven to 450 degrees.

- approx 2 cups sifted flour (that means about two tablespoons less if you're not going to sift it, which is fine, because you'll need those 2 tbsp to sprinkle your kneading area, so scoop out the spoonfuls and throw them on your clean counter)
- pinch of salt
- 1 1/2 tbsp sugar
- 3 tsp baking powder
- approx 1/3 cup shortening or butter (or half of one, half of the other)
- 1/4 to 1/3 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese (use a coarse grater)
- 2 tbsp dried chives or green onions (freshis okay too, but I used dried because it's what I had on hand)
- 3/4 cup milk

Preheat oven to 450 degrees.

Sift flour, salt, sugar, and baking powder together. If you're going to cheat and not sift it, make sure you remove the two tablespoons of flour before you add the other dry ingredients. Blend well. Stir in the Parmesan cheese.

Add the slice of shortening and/or butter. Use a pastry cutter to cut it in, or two forks, or two knives, or hey, your fingers. (You've already thrown flour on your clean countertop, and your hands will get sticky later when you knead it, so why not?) Cut it in until it resembles little pea shapes of butter and flour.

Make a well in the center and pour in all the milk at once. Stir carefully till you won't throw flour and milk allover the kitchen, then stir vigorously till incorporated. The key to good biscuits is to NOT OVERSTIR.

Turn the dough out onto the counter and gather it into a ball. Then flatten it, turn it, fold it, turn it again, etc. Do this only about nine times. Folding it and then flattening it is what gives the biscuits the flakiness. Roll or pat out to between 3/4 to 1 inch thick.

Use a round cookie cutter to cut out rounds of 1 1/2 to 2 inches in diameter. Don't twist the cutter. Place on ungreased cookie sheet. Gather scraps, reroll, cut again.

Bake for about nine minutes, or until lightly browned. The cheese and chives sometimes give a bit of a burning smell if they're directly touching the metal as they bake; it's not the biscuits themsleves, don't worry. Check anyway. Overbaking these is a crime.

Remove from oven. You can cool them on a wire rack, but mine cool on the sheet just fine. Store in an airtight container, unless you're going to eat them all, which is entirely possible. Serve with butter. (I was thinking of making sage butter, because then I would be in absolute heaven.)

Enjoy!

Oldest Altar Unearthed

How cool is this?

Bulgaria Boasts Europe's Oldest Altar

Lifestyle: 4 August 2004, Wednesday.

Bulgarian archeologists disclosed the oldest altar in Europe.

It was found in a mound located near the Bulgarian village Kapitan Dimitrievo. The altar dates back from 6000 B.C.

The mound is as high as 13 meters and has a diameter of 140 meters. It is said to be one of the oldest historical landmarks in Bulgaria.

That's the entire article; the original can be found here. Wren's Nest over at Witchvox adds that:

ANCIENT SCRIPT UNCOVERED IN BULGARIA

Bulgarian archaeologists found a primitive scripture supposed to have been used by Thracian tribes.

The pictograms, painted on 3, 000 year-old ceramic utensils, were found in the grandiose religious centre Perperikon.

(That one's here.)

No doubt there will eventually be archaeological reports, anthropological reconstructions, and other research released. Utterly fascinating.

Occupation: Jedi

Can I get away with writing "Become a powerful force for good" as one of the bulleted statements in this back cover copy?

I didn't think so.

Sigh...

Present in Body

I woke up, organized my whole day while I lay in bed, got up, and now have absolutely no idea what I was planning to do.

Irritating. I was happy with the original plan, too. While I try to remember, I'm doing book work: the publisher sent me the back cover copy for my book to edit. I'm trying to figure out how to re-state the bulleted information without repeating the info everywhere else.

Yesterday was the first writing jam in about six weeks, and although both Ceri and I were remarkably uninspired, we managed to get things done we wouldn't otherwise have accomplished if we'd been alone. I transcribed eight hundred words of handwritten work to the computer. Ceri made some adjustments to the story that On Spec asked her to rewrite, and chaperoned two reluctant characters through the beginnings of a conversation that will eventually turn into something useful. Neither of us committed as much jamage as we'd hoped; but then, we're out of practice. And t! was not present in body, although he called.

And yes, HRH walked in, damp and unimpressed, partway through.

The day was capped by a very productive CMS co-ordinators' meeting. Blade makes a mean ice cream/Jello dessert which finished things off nicely. And I not only slept through the night, I slept well.

Now, if I could only remember what was on today's agenda...

The Irony of Precipitation

I was already awake when HRH's boss called at 6.30 AM to cancel the morning's work. Environment Canada (who evidently foretell the weather with a rock, a pair of scissors, and a piece of paper) was waving about weather radar which said it would be a miracle if the Looming Storm and its accompanying offspring Fifteen Millimetres of Rain would miss us. HRH's boss said that he'd check in with everyone at eleven to confirm work for the rest of the day. HRH and I went out to pick up groceries.(You know, there's no one at all in a supermarket at 8.15 AM. And all the shelves are fully stocked. And the vegetables are attractively arrranged. Must remember this.)

Miracle of miracles! There were a couple of sprinkles, and that was all. When we came back at ten-thirty, there was a message from HRH's boss on the machine. Hey, well, that storm didn't happen, so the rest of the day is on!

I just looked outside, and it's pouring.

This, dear readers, is irony.

I wonder how soggy HRH will be when he gets home, and when that will be.

Argh!

Even worse than writing an 80K word manuscript is trying to write a sixty-word bio.

The really annoying thing? I woke up three days ago and had a perfect little bio in my brain, just like that. Did I write it down? No. I have bios galore already. I did not need yet another. So naturally, they asked me for a new one today, with a sixty-word limit.

I feel as if I'm banging my head against a brick wall. It never gets any easier.

Round One

So.

My manuscript has gone through the first in-house edit. It's all coded, it's shorter, small spelling errors have been caught, I've added necessary information. It's tighter. I like it. They like it. Everyone's happy so far.

And now, I wait for the second round of editing, after it's gone through the independent reader. Don't ask me when that will be; I don't know.

Witches Weekly - August 02,

Witches Weekly - August 02, 2004: Seasons

1. What do you like most about the summer season?

The light. I get very lethargic in winter due to the lack of sunlight. I enjoy not having to turn on an electric light in the daytime during the summer months.

2. How does weather affect your spirituality? Are you more active in the summer with pagan activities or less? Do you meditate outside or inside depending on weather?

The weather doesn't affect my spirituality or the frequency of my rituals at all. Sure, we have a few bbqs outdoors, and we do a couple of outdoor rituals, but I wouldn't say it deeply affects my spirituality; other than the basic fact that my spirituality is seasonally-based, of course. I meditate all over the place in any season, whenever needed.

3. What's your favorite summer ritual? (Lughnasadh, Midsummer, whatever you celebrate)

Lughnassadh! Fresh corn, home-made bread... well, see the previous entry. I tend to forget about midsummer, actually. (Although I'm likely to have it eternally emblazoned upon my mind after this summer's Star Wars ritual, where Darth Vader cut Obi-Wan down, ostensibly to become the reigning king... but we all know that the Oak King has become More Powerful Than You Can Possibly Imagine and will return in a different form come Yule.)

I have a stronger connection with the harvest festivals than with Midsummer. And yet, Yule is an essential part of the wheel for me. I also tend to forget Ostara, but the Autumn Equinox/Harvest Home is firmly entrenched in my mind both as a major harvest festival, and as my wedding anniversary.

I know others tend to forget Ostara and Lughnassadh because they don't have much of a connection to them. I try to remember Ostara as the Vernal Equinox, where I say farewell to winter with much joy. When I have children, I have decided that Ostara will also be a Maiden festival (or Youth festival, depending on the sex of the children!). When I was a child, I saw that there was a Mothers' Day, a Fathers' Day, and even a Grandparents' Day. "When is Kids' Day?" I asked my mother. "Every day is Kids' Day," she told me, which, as an adult, I now completely understand. At the time, though, it nettled me. Making Ostara an official Kids' Day works with the themes of youth and potential. Lughnassadh, as I've said, I made a celebration of corn and wheat, two of my favourite foods, so I never forget it.

Lughnassadh

Oh, hey; and blessed Lughnassadh. (I forgot to say "white rabbits" this morning, it being the first of the month, but I didn't forget Lughnassadh!)

Go eat fresh, sweet corn on the cob. That's how we celebrate. That, and baking fresh bread. Mmm... corn on the cob, dripping with butter and salt and pepper... warm bread ...

No! No! Must finish editing manuscript!

Taking a Break

After the thunderstorms and torrential downpour yesterday, when I was afraid to turn on the computer, I'm tying up the revision of the second half of the manuscript today. I'm being good to myself. Usually I plough onwards, eyes glazed, saying, "I'll just finish this chapter, I'll just finish this chapter." Today, I'm taking a break when I catch myself saying it. I seem to be in much better humour for it.

Last night HRH and I joined Elim, our tradition's healing nexus, for a healing ritual, and damn, but it was good to play with experienced people. I love each and every one of my students, but it's refreshing to do something without being an example or keeping an eye on others while we do it. I'd rather not have had to do the ritual at all, of course, but the clan was asked to do healing work for a young lad of six who has an inoperable brain tumour. I'll gladly act as a channel for something like that.

The gussets didn't work as well as I'd hoped. I dyed another dress instead, which worked better than I was told it would. So there.